男の人は食べています。

男の人は食べています。

I can breathe again.

SomeThing Happening Last Night.
SomeThing Changed Last Night.

A Return To Me.

Healed. Recovered.

I've been sick for about a week now. Real nasty cough compounded with really congested sinus. I'm no slouch. Rest. Fluids. Spicy Food. It's been slow goin', which is not something I'm used to. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Usually my inhuman immune system renders any sickness void in fewer than 72 hours. Not this time around. Perhaps it was to reacquaint me with my humanity or perhaps there was a reason for it well beyond that.

I had some pretty dense dreams last night, and unlike usually where I can recall every minute detail with perfect clarity, last night's subconscious shenanigans were quite blurry. I can only recall bits and pieces. Again, I can really only refer to this feeling as "human." This is what it's like for the rest of you guys, huh? My goodness I can see how frustrating that would be. I often take my gifts for granted, this being one of them. Being a serial (and often unwanted) lucid dreamer the grass of non-lucid dreams seems greener. It's just different grass is all. You guys are jealous of my ability to control and remember my dreams. I was jealous of you lot for having dreams independent of conscious control that fade upon waking. Indeed it was and is a major reason I supplement with cannabis. It dampens the intensity and amount of dreams I dream during the night and pushes them from my mind faster when I awake.

You desire the ability to control and recall, I desire the ability to participate and forget.

Well, this is one instance where I'm missing my natural set of attributes and feeling stymied by my seeming inability to consciously reactivate them.

One day perhaps, once and for all, I will do myself and the world a favor and empirically determine which grass is actually greener. Until then, I'm content to discuss shades and hues and appreciate the differences therein.

The portions of last night's mental magic that I've got a hold on are fragmented, illusory and too vague to be immediately interpreted. Granted that does not dictate that some parts are quite easy to break down amid easily replaying them.

In no particular order, I remember 3 "main" "parts."

There was a monstrously high and tall corporate building that two men worked in or maybe were just meeting in. I say "there was" because I had no direct connection to either of them, nor did I experience any of this "part" from either of their first person perspectives. I was more just a roving observer taking it in. Lacking my usual lush and descriptive language I am going to have to do my best to paint a picture in your mind missing the colors and brushes used to paint them in the first place. There was some sort of a tension to their meeting and it seemed to be a high-stakes one. The one guy I can clearly remember and describe as basically muscular Greg from Dharma and Greg, wearing black slacks and shoes and a light blue button-down rebelliously rolled at the sleeves and worn with no tie or jacket. In the dream this carried the nuance of only him being permitted to dress in this manner in a hypocritical, unspoken, and tenuous way.

There was another man, looking very similar, but tanner, shorter and far more ripped. In the face I seem to recall him looking a lot like the other guy, but the details are, reluctantly, admittedly, hazy. So in the sake of brevity a fitting description might be slightly-latino Greg from Dharma and Greg, haha.

They were discussing things in a very heated yet relaxed manner, as most high-level board-room conversations between two high-powered executives are conducted in real life. A dueling banjoes dynamic began to develop as each tried to one-up the others' proposal or idea, and the longer this continued the more sexual tension began to build. Eventually, as somewhat anticipated at this point the conversation devolved into direct comparisons of appearance. They fiercely named the muscles and movements responsible for their development in an attempt to impress and overwhelm the other to no avail. They punctuated such observations with others about clothing and its source and cost.

The "climax" of this "dream-scene" was represented in a urgent embrace from Greg to Latino-Greg to which Latino-Greg promptly, gently yet firmly cautioned "You're being bossy." In retrospect, that moment changes the rest of the way I remember Greg's initial character. Indeed retroactively his whole personality seems tainted by this exchange. Prior to this point the powerplay dynamics asserting themselves seemed openly tipped in Greg's favor, at this point however it was clear that Latino-Greg had been "in charge" the whole time.

After a rapidfire exchange of boasting one's own qualities while attempting to point out the other's in a way that highlighted one's own, they moved closer and began more intensely examining one another's sartorial choices in the same fierce way they'd been highlighting one another's flesh-suits.

The "true climax" of this moment came when after a compliment on his pectorals from L-G, G un-buttoned his shirt as if to say "Yes. Revel in them and be overtaken by them!" L-G didn't bat an eye as he deftly flicked the button necessary to reveal his own rippling chest, to which G was very much unable to hide the fact that he was genuinely impressed. That prompted the situation to come to a head and Greg tenderly embraced Latino-Greg's neck and upper shoulders in a searching manner preceding a kiss. Latino-Greg neither moved no reciprocated, rather he issued the stern "You're being bossy." Which caused a stern Greg to immediately recoil and recoup. Unable to decide whether he was dejected or intrigued, the character's pacing back and forth in distance from the other's represents the subtle waves washing ashore and flowing back out to sea way in which the memory breaks down and fades away for me.

The symbolism in this one is the most easily read for me. Recently I excised one toxic relationship from my life whilst reuniting with a beneficial one unfortunately moved away from some time ago. In short, I traded one player for another.

Clearly this scene was merely an on-the-nose metaphor for the power play dynamics between myself and these two other men. Less clear however is who was represented by whom, and for what amount of time. Like I advise most of you coming to me for dream interpretation, I must simply not think on it directly and allow myself to subconsciously search through it as I go about my day. A lot easier said than done! I'll keep that in mind next time I'm downplaying its difficulty!

The other 2 main acts are far more disjointed and ambiguous still. As such, my descriptions of them will be fittingly brief and woefully underdeveloped.

At one point I was on a different version of earth or perhaps a rare corner of the actual globe covered in resort and obstacle-course style trappings. Honestly, a pretty typical dream setting for me that I've come to anticipate and have grown quite familiar and comfortable with. Another familiar theme is that it began being invaded by "others." Unlike normally where I could plainly describe them, a blurry sorta-aliens-or-sorta-insects-or-sorta-monsters-or-something-but-definitely-not-humans is really the best I can do! They swarmed upon the resort and most fled or were shot down. A HUD appeared and whether it was self-generated and percieved or a feature from the resort remains to be seen or known, a beeping and red highlight along with awareness of peripheal vision warned me of an "Invader" coming in hot on my 3 o'clock, and unlike normally where I manifest some sort of strength, weapon, or magic, I winced and covered up and crouched in fear. This is not in and of itself unique or ground-breaking as many of my nightmares are categorized not by gore, pain, or dying but by rather not knowing how or refusing to fight back. THAT for me is the true nightmare. This was no different. However in this "nightmare moment" I did something I'm not sure I've done since I was a kid. I "paused" the dream. I spontaneously became lucid and froze the rest of the action into a 3D diorama I was free to navigate at my whim. Hence why I can recall this part with so much clarity. I "woke up." Not enough to open my physical eyes in reality but just enough to bring me back to center on my character overlapping reality and non-reality. I do not cower. I do not fear. I am Josh Vish. I do not back down. I fight back. Consciously holding all that in mind, I unpaused and promptly decked the offending Invader out of the air and several hundred feet away. From that point on the action/visuals fade into a standard battle being won by one side possessing a mighty warrior doing most of the work.

The symbolism best ascertained from this is "believe in yourself and you will be capable of great things." If you cower in fear, then you will be cowardly and afraid. If you stand and fight, then even if you fall, you will be brave and strong.

As almost a subset of the above, the other snippet was illustrating a similar theme in a re-mixed manner. I was in a convenience store amid another "Invasion." This particular store seemed to be in a New York style area or maybe even the actual Big Apple. The people populating it were well aware that conflict was going on but were doggedly determined to continue on with business as usual. Explosions are rattling the walls and immigrants are haggling prices of candybars. America in a nutshell. Well played, brain. At some point marauders/looters had infiltrated the store and seized the owner effectively taking control of the storefront. They forced him to remain at the counter and then attempted to rob and/or maim whichever brave unwitting customer dare approach. I was one such customer, but when I bent down to grab an impulse item, unaware of the situation at hand, they foolishly fired above where I had previously been standing. I dropped to the ground and stealthily made my way around to the swinging door leading behind the cashier. I went unnoticed as they moved onto their next victim. The leader was crouched knees to chest behind the store-owner and too pre-occupied to notice me sidle up mere inches away from him. When I whispered "hey" he jumped and ran in a knee-jerk reaction that forfeited the bluff and minor weapon I had planned on injuring him with.

The lesson here being fighting fire with fire. Scaring the scary. Sneaking up on the sneaky. He was so thoroughly shocked that dream-physics (or my perception of them rather) may or may not have broke down for a moment as he appeared to literally jump out of his skin akin to old Tom and Jerry cartoons. He was so frightened! I derived so much sinister pleasure for being responsible! Like the others, everything seems to blur and fade from here.

I was motivated to capture as much of the experience in text as I could this morning thanks to the conversation held last night.

Vish Fantasy League just cut a toxic player from the team and re-signed a former star.
I can't seem to get the idea out of my head that this is what finally made me better and helped me overcome this illness I'd been battling for an uncharacteristically long amount of time.

I was afforded the wonderful opportunity to reunite with a lost friend. One from an era and group of friends that I'd sadly resigned myself to not ever see again. A while back he'd randomly blocked me on facebook and in response I blocked him in real life. About a week or so ago, he apologized for his actions and contacted me to get together. Not just to explain, but simply to catch up. And catch up we did! Not to put his business out there, because he was very adamant that I not spread his personal life about, but to loosely recount the night we talked on many subjects that I myself am very familiar with but that most Body-Builder/Personal Trainers only have a cursory knowledge of. Fitness talk was expected and unabashed. HOWEVER, spiritual talk and matters of meditation were a very pleasant and welcome surprise! Two, three in addition to fitness, areas of my expertise! I won't include much more detail than that as I've agreed to respect his privacy. Hence not naming/identifying this mystery friend of mine. And endeavoring to speak so generally that even if an enterprising individual were to deduce his idenity that no subject discussed would reveal anything preferred to be kept private.

Something I will describe in paradoxically vague detail is the juxtaposition of our living spaces and how they represent the subsequent juxtaposition of our actual lives. He'd apparently moved near me recently and as such, we're technically neighbors, something which is mildly painful to know I was unaware of during the interim in which he and I didn't speak. "You were this close the whole time?!" Big and empty. He clearly makes and has made more money than me in the past, but the sparse (read: non-existent) decoration in the house communicated an austere asceticism I thought un-befitting of a person mired in proving one's appearance to the outside world. I am neither condescending nor condemning. Indeed, I rather like it. And, praised it and him as such. It just seemed oddly oxymoronic. Like going over Snoop Dogg's house and seeing nary a pot-leaf or cannabis related item anywhere. His family, while not boastful in the least, good honest hard-working blue-collars poised to become and slowly transitioning into respectable white-collars even spread its influence into me as my family is very very very similar. So coming from the same "family" I expected his trappings to be more lavish. That is not to imply, however, that I was somehow disappointed by what I saw. Quite the opposite as I've already stated above.

In our Family, appearance is claimed to not be important but plays a vital unspoken role in establishing oneself as a sovereign member of the group. While gold, cars, and expensive electronics are desired, bought, and enjoyed, they come at the unspoken price of being categorized as luxuries and therefore ultimately unnecessary. This does not change our natural human proclivity to enjoy and praise them though. We just attempt to do so in a diminished manner separate from what really matters. On the opposite end of the spectrum are things like seasonal decorations or other such comfortable amenities. Knick-knacks and brick-a-brack not owned for status but merely for comfort. The disparity between the two often results in a bizarrely triangulated keeping-up-with-the-joneses not merely content to remain unspoken but violently guarded from being directly acknowledged.

Family member "A": "Hey, I just got an expensive new [x!] Come check it out!"
Family member "B": "I think there are better things you could be spending your money on... Or better yet, better to just save your money instead of frivolously spending it at all."
A: "..."
B: U_U

A: "Look at these sentimental value mementos I saved from [Elder Family Member X!]"
B: "Oh wow! Those are so cool! I'm so jealous!"
A: ^_______^
B: ^_______^

A: "I just bought this new [x] so that I can make and store more food for the rest of the family!"
B: "Oh yeah? That's nothin'. I just bought [y] so that I can build and repair more things for the rest of the family."
A: "Pfft. Whatevs. I also got [z] to...."
B: "Well I got [q]"
So on and so forth for an uncalled for amount of time.

So that being said and represented, I mean to simply say I expected him to have more and was pleasantly surprised and proud that he did not.

My apartment with Abbey stands on the far other end of the extreme in that the actual place itself is somewhat in a state of disrepair but is bursting at the seems with free/found furniture and prized possessions accumulated over the course of decades and separate individuals. A wonderfully visual juxtaposition.

Big Nice, Mostly Empty Place vs. Medium Acceptable, Crammed Place

It even seems to me personally to represent both our bodies and our minds compared and contrasted to one another.

Not completely, obviously as there is far more "inside him" than his place lets on and there is urgent potential to graduate to a larger place for myself. - I suppose and surmise, like all things in reality, a balance between the two will naturally equalize. For both parties. Diffusion is after all the only absolute truth. *Tangent* Diffusion is the founding principle of Reality. Everything you perceive (and even what you don't) is diffusion in process somehow. It's the closest thing there is to an absolute universal truth. It's the closest I personally have gotten to a TOE (Theory Of Everything.)

-Just- experienced a synchronicity with the drink he made me after we'd been sippin' maker's mark for a few hours, the Moscow Mule - VODKA, GINGER BEER, LIME. Never heard of it prior to drinking it and then saw it atop a friend's page on facebook today from being posted at roughly the same time we were drinking ours.


[Un-named Collaboration X] I was going to include my business proposal to/with this individual but the toxic individual that I've removed from life is prone to reading this very blog and pilfering its ideas to claim as his own. So unfortunately I must remain hushed until developed enough to debut. Suffice it to say, I think that the two of us working together would be extremely mutually beneficial.


男の人は食べています。

My weekend.

So the other day my friend, Kevin, wanted to trek out to Washington to the Tanger Outlets to buy some boots at the Timberland store. He asked me if I wanted to come. After seven months spent almost entirely in my house and three months in jail prior to that, I heartily agree to most any offer to go out and about, and this was no exception.

Despite being in the negative monetary-wise (and with no income to speak of), I decided that picking up a pair of durable practical boots might lift my spirits. "Retail therapy", I believe it's called. If I am going to get a job or complete my community service in this weather, a nice pair of boots would be invaluable, as I have to walk most anywhere I want to go.

The day started off with us heading to Shadyside to send his Macbook Pro off to be fixed. I relish any opportunity to go to Shadyside, and was quite excited to be in the area. As far as PA goes, Shadyside is where all my swankiest happenings have happened. It's where the after-party for the premiere of Kevin Smith's Zack and Miri Make a Porno was held, and also where I met and briefly chatted with the uber-cute Jamie Chung, and a few of her Sorority Row castmates while they were here in Pittsburgh. Both occurred on the same night at Alto Lounge.

The day was progressing nicely. Weather was way better than it has been. That and the smiles and conversations shared with random mac-store workers and patrons were having quite the positive effect on me. I always forget what a fun, funny and witty person I can be until I'm out in public doing it unintentionally. It's like "Ooooh yeah.... this is who I am...." Continuing the whole theme of avatars and the Japanese concept of tatemae and honne, it's in situations like these that I learn the most about myself. I don't so much think that we as humans purposefully shift from a private to a public persona for any reasons like shame or anything, but more because THERE IS NO ONE TO INTERACT WITH WHEN YOU ARE ALONE. And therefore no reference points. Despite many people assuming I probably do (what with all the characters and voices I do) I rarely, if ever, talk to myself. I can count on my hand the number of times I've done it. When by myself I am quiet and calm, and I would imagine most people are. Certain attributes of my character are only observable when compared in relation to those around me.

When I'm by myself I tend to think of myself as an introverted, bookish, nerdy, intellectual artist. Bordering on neurotic and somewhat anti-social. A bit egotistical but also somewhat insecure. In a crowd, I am the life of the party. The Tyler Durden to my Narrarator. I am attractive, conversational, witty, intelligent and humorous. I'm a local celebrity, shaking hands and kissing babies. The center of attention. A natural born leader. Barack Obama in public, Charlie Kaufman behind closed doors.

Side note: I've determined that I'm either incredibly good-looking, incredibly weird-looking or incredibly ugly because no matter where I go, people eye-fuck the shit out of me. Or maybe I look like a celebrity. It might also be that I'm so highly animated. Who knows? In my younger days it used to perplex and encuriate me, but presently it just serves to fuel my ego and make me feel good about myself.

We left the Mac Store and then went to a place called Sushi Too. A small, cozy sushi-hole that's not bad for being located in Western PA. The food was dece and the service was prompt and courteous. One of the cute asian waitresses was staring a hole trough me the entire time. Again, providing confidence and happiness. It's so fun to share smiles and stolen glances with a woman you've never met before. It feels naughty yet innocent, special yet arbitrary all at the same time. Either way it's fun and I enjoy it. I've always had a thing for asian women, specifically Japanese and South Korean, but after my (HORRIBLE) breakup with my most recent ex, they've been somewhat ruined for me. She was South Korean and every time I eye an attractive oriental girl I can't but help to be reminded of her. As such I've mostly tried to shut off my affinity for females from the far east.

While eating, Kevin and I began to wax philosophical on the values of eating at a leisurely pace, nutrition and just food in general. Having a history in personal training, health and fitness, being a former fat kid and a fan of clean eating I was all too happy to discuss such things. He was biking in the summer and has been steadily increasing his kitchen-related activities, so he too was quite keen to speak about such things.

Not too long ago, I watched two documentaries titled Food, Inc. and The Botany Of Desire. Both featuring Michael Pollan. (Both excellent, and highly recommended.) And after he himself completed it, Kevin insisted that I read Food Rules. I had just finished The Omnivore's Dilemma and I loved it, so in following the Michael Pollan theme decided to take him up on it. It's a short read, and I banged it out quite quickly. It's mostly just common sense and stuff I already know, although it was worded more cleverly and succinctly. It was like the cliff notes' version of either of the movies or Omnivore's Dilemma. With all this in the air and in our minds, we mindfully ate sushi and talked about how nice it is to know where your food comes from and to eat at a comfortable pace.

From there we ventured directly to the Tanger Outlets. A huge outdoor mall housing many factory stores of popular companies whose products are typically marked up and sold in department stores at typical malls. Having been the middle of February, and having been one of the harshest winters on record in this area, left the place mostly uninhabited. A weird ghost-town effect was plainly noticeable. Such a large place that obviously makes SCADS of money and attracts hundreds of thousands of customers, with nary more than a few stragglers in addition to those working the stores. It was somewhat eery, but kinda cool. I would like to see it on a nice, warm, busy day. Must be hectic. And awesome. Kevin expressed a preference for its current state and the division between us grew ever more apparent to me. Talk of zombie invasion (there at the outlets) lightened the mood, but I still couldn't help seeing the vast disparity in our characters.

While at the Outlets, I was struck with the plights of the modern American citizen. Specifically those of an affluent woman. I have never felt so womanly in my life. I mean that in as negative a way as possible. Many aspects of stereotypically female behaviors I actually strive to embody and unconsciously already do: nurturing, caring, feeling, so on and so forth... But there are two sides to every coin, and as such I can also embody the negative stereotypes of women as well, whiny, moody, shallow and overly obsessed with appearance. That last one is what happened here.

I just wanted a pair of crisp dark denim jeans, that were somewhat form-fitting but not restricting. Loose, but not baggy. Fashionable, but not gay.

I'd like to start off by expressing my extreme distaste for two current trends in fashion.

First, and my most hated, pre-distressed/faded jeans.
Are you kidding me? You expect me to pay upwards of a hundred dollars for jeans that look beat-to-shit? Jeans I would throw out? Back in my day, holes in your jeans meant you were poor or dirty, likely both. I'll tell you what, you give me fifty bucks and I'll go get a pair of Levi's, wear 'em for three or four years and then give 'em to you. Deal? No? That's retarded? Silly? Why you want jeans someone else wore? EXACTLY. Pre-distressed and "vintage" t-shirts can suck my dick, too. If the shit I'm wearing is going to look like I've had it for years, then I want to have actually had it for years. Earn your stripes.

Second, skinny jeans for men.
What the fuck?! It's like we've now plunged this nations' male population into the same bullshit trap we've had our women in for years. For decades women have been oppressed by advertising and models telling them they should be able to fit into jeans that even a skeleton would have trouble sliding on. Now we're telling our men the same thing? I am a man, damnit. I have thick, muscular legs. What the fuck am I gonna do with a piece of material best suited to hold two broomsticks?! Get that shit out of my face. Here I am, a robust, muscular twenty-five-year-old male and I'm in a fitting room thinking "Maybe I should start running? Maybe I should modify my diet?" (Quick side note: I FUCKING HATE when people say they are "going on a diet". You are already on a diet, asshole. Whatever you eat comprises your diet.) Bullshit. That's just capitalist bullshit propaganda working its way into my head. And I don't appreciate it. FUCK SKINNY JEANS. Fuck 'em. Give me a pair of man-jeans.

I am the unwanted half-breed bastard child of the denim world.

In the fashionable, young, punky stores I could feel the eyes of the clerks and few patrons judging me.

"Get out of here, you muscular jock asshole." Their gazes said to me.

"We don't like your kind round these parts..."

Whereas in Casual Male XL, everyone's eyes were saying,

"Oh look at you, you skinny little faggot. Oh boo hoo, my arms are too long for shirts. Boo hoo, I can't find pants that are loose in the thighs but actually fit in the waist."

Tertium Quid again rears its ugly head. Has me thinking I'll just have to get rich and have everything custom made. That way I can also have everything be hemp.

The whole ordeal had me feeling really bourgeois and affluent.

Like seriously, is buying jeans or shoes really this big of a deal?
Really that important?

Just buy a fucking pair of pants or shoes and shut the fuck up already. Yeesh.

I went in with the attitude of survival first, fashion second. I wanted durable fitting jeans that I could still move around in and a pair of boots that would keep my feet dry without being or looking clunky. It ended up turning into a fiasco that many women immediately identified with, according to the comments on my facebook status updates throughout the day.

When jeans fit over my thighs and ass they are WAY too loose around my waist and look retarded. Frumpy. Like that bullshit trend among teenagers where they wear jeans three sizes too small but yet somehow still manage to sag. The other options are jeans that fit in the waist and either look like gangsta-ass gangsta baggy jeans, that would be entirely unpractical to commence any sort of physical activity in, or jeans so tight they look like they could be painted on. I seriously felt like I was going to need cut out of every "fashionable" pair of jeans I tried on.

The boots I didn't feel as girly about, but I was still quite disappointed. Having a wide foot really fucks you for most shoes. Your options are crush the sides of your foot or have enough space in front of your toes that you end up sliding all around inside and chafing the fuck out of your ankles. I chose neither. Again, maybe I'll just have to wait until I can have everything custom-made.

I ended up leaving without buying anything. Seeing as how as I have less than a dollar to my name (indeed negative dollars) it was probably better that way. It doesn't change the fact that I still need/desire a solid pair of jeans and boots.

The ridiculousness and triviality of these "problems" does not escape me. Whereas people are dying just to find clean drinking water I'm bitching about the waitress putting ice in mine when I specifically asked her not to. Ludicrous. Then again, "problems" are only relative anyway... Even though you might laugh at a person being upset over losing a million dollars when they still have ten million more I'm sure that person is still quite sad about it. And rightfully so.

It just seems silly to me to bitch about finding correctly-fitting pants when there are people in the world THAT DON'T EVEN WEAR PANTS.

At some point, Kov wondered aloud, "What if you were in an asexual homosexual relationship?" His delivery was genuine and I could see the irony had yet to dawn on him. I sat quietly and just stared at him, waiting for the pink elephant in the room to wave his way. It did eventually and we each shared a chuckle.

Asexual homosexual relationship? No thank you. I want a sexual heterosexual relationship. I love women and I miss sex. I miss cuddling even more. I also miss sharing the burden of daily life in a near-perfect harmonious relationship. I hate to do dishes, my x loved them. I love to vacuum, my x hated it. Sooooo she did the dishes and I vacuumed. Perfect. I want that sort of relationship again. Natural. Organic. Not forced. Each one picking up where the other one leaves off.

That feeling combined with all the sympathy I received after my trying-on-jeans escapade helps to reinforce just how much I want and need a woman in my life. Not just one I can live with, but one I can't live with out. I think I want to fall in love again. But a huge part of me knows I'm not ready. Thinks I will NEVER be ready, ever again. My last x destroyed my heart. Ripped it out of my chest and stomped on it. Then wore the blood-covered boots out and told everyone where it came from. I could go into further detail but I don't wanna sound like a whiny emo teenager. Bad shit happens to everyone, you deal with it and move on.

It's just kinda hard to move on when your faith in the entire human race has been all but obliterated.

I will not go off on a tangent about my x.
I will not go off on a tangent about my x.
I will not go off on a tangent about my x.
I will not go off on a tangent about my x.
I will not go off on a tangent about my x.

It's shitty, but I want like a "rental" girlfriend. I'm not ready to settle down yet, so looking for more serious options would be doing both parties a disservice. I eventually want a wife that I'm madly in love with and can raise children with, but I'm simply not ready for her yet. Or them. (Our future kids) I am still a child myself. I need to figure myself out and get my life together before I think about pursuing a life-time partnership. Or creating/molding lives with said partner. It just sucks because I know that if I had a strong woman to depend on, and share with, that I could much more easily get my life together. It's like needing a car to get a job, but needing a job to get a car.


Back to the avatar talk...
I LOVE that movie. Just as it as. As a standalone entertainment experience. But also (and maybe even more so) for the the thoughts and ideas it created in me. Not only the long-standing return-to-nature theme that has been prevalent in my life for so many years, but also the concept of avatars.

In LittleBiGPlanet the first customization I gave to my Sackboy left him looking like a blue lion-man with a smile. When I was younger I gravitated toward Kimahri Ronso when my friends and I played FFX. The Beast was my second favorite X-Men character. I'm pretty fast and agile for a big guy and even a touch graceful. Blue is one of my three favorite colors. These and a whole slew of other things just left me enamored with the concept of inhabiting a twelve-foot blue lion-person body after coming out of the theater for Avatar. So many connections between things in my life lead to being an anthropomorphic cat-man.

So all this factored in and combined with my recent awareness of my apparent split-personality has left me wondering how best to physically represent myself. How best to express my inner self with my appearance. I have many "set" characters that I can slip in to, and out of, at will. With ease, (Sometimes TOO easily, and maybe not so willingly according to others.) Some are established and easily recognized and just modified for my purposes. Others are of my own creation. Others still are unnamed and not distinctly divided from the rest. In a stereotypically vain move, I've taken to using many of my friends as outward representations of my character.

But despite all those people swimming around in my head (or maybe because of) a single "overlord" has yet to emerge. The ultimate symbol of Josh Vish-itude. There have been a few attempts, and I'm sure people I know have opinions on the matter, but the truth is, I don't feel I've completely realized who I am yet. As a character or in appearance.

I've decided to take it to the drawing board and to design myself from head to toe. From the inside to the out. To turn myself into an immediately recognizable symbol. An Icon. I want what I look like to represent who I am. In short, I will now be creating my own avatar. As best as I can with the options I've been given. Most people can immediately describe the character and/or appearance of say, Jesus or Goku or Superman or Bruce Lee when asked to do so. I want to be the same way. I want to be a household name. Like Coca-Cola or Arnold Schwarzenegger. A verb. I am well aware this is my ego talking and that such aspirations also inherently prove risky (on many levels) but regardless, this is how I feel. All humans want to be remembered as it is our most feasible chance at immortality. A legacy is far easier to attain than actual eternal life. I am no different.

In favor of brevity I will eschew talking about the character I aspire to embody and will instead focus on the outward appearance of my physical body.

I want to be tan, fit, lean and muscular. In addition to actually being athletic and powerful, I want to look it. Crisp, clean lines around neatly trimmed hair. As far as manner of dress. I want to be tactical, yet fashionable. Function first, fashion second.

In other Vish-news...
I am officially done inhaling combusted cannabis until I have secured a gym membership, the ability to get there and the time to use it. This requires a job and transportation. Neither of which I have now. You can't respectfully smoke marijuana without maintaining a productive lifestyle. In my opinion, at least. And right now I am just a bum. A typical stoner. NO MORE, I say. One blunt before a workout. Maybe a pipe on the weekends. No more chiefin' joints and smokin' roaches. No more midis. Only beautiful nuggets. Green. Colorful. Hairy. (just like me)

When I start living in a manner that I am proud of and pleases me, I will resume my willful habit. But first, I must prove myself. To myself.

Last night after getting some grub at Mad Mex with the pair of Kevs, Little Kev wanted to hit the town. Apparently Big Kev had made it seem like that was the plan, so when he was talking of heading home Little Kev was left wanting. So he asked me to head out and about with him. Again, I all too happily obliged.

We first went to Oakland and the Spice Cafe. It was too loud for normal conversation and after a water and contrived conversation with a waitress we decided to roll out. We then made our way to Shadyside. After parking, we putzed around and eventually came to Alto Lounge. There was a pleasant group of attractive young females cutting a rug on the dance floor and music of an acceptable volume. We stayed there for a bit and flirted with the bartender. A ridiculously attractive brunette dressed sportily. She helped us find directions (on her Macbook) to Shadow Lounge. And that is where we headed next.

This whole time we were chit-chatting away in the car as both of us are extremely talkative and passionate. A few common topics emerged. He was quite pleased with the feeling of adventure afforded to him by driving around somewhat aimlessly and eager to break into nightlife. Prior to my forced isolation, I was never much for the bar scene. I abhor tobacco and those that smoke it and for the most part don't even care to drink. I like beer and I drink it with meals, but I do it in the snobby sense. I say shit like, "Oh notes of cardamom..." or "These hops were harvested quite young..." Drinking for me is not "LET'S GET SHIT-FACED!!!" I have never understood that mentality. Beverage is beverage and regarded largely the same way I treat food. Regardless of these facts he chose me to be his liaison. Which I can certainly understand, giving where I grew up and my time spent in LA. And because of my unwilling segregation I've been desiring to go out more as well.

After parking we rolled up to the front door which was flanked by a few scattered groups. One such group of which was a trio of attractive ladies pleasantly puffing some pot right out in front. On my own I would've taken a hit for sure, but with Little Kev nearby I didn't want to chance making him feel awkward. He's only just breaking into the social scene and I anticipated he would have felt lost while I was shooting the shit with fellow smokers. This was later confirmed as accurate by him. We poked our heads in and after finding out there was a ten dollar cover for a place that would be closing in roughly a half an hour, we decided to bail. The victory was already won. Little Kev just wanted to know where the place was for sure and I was happy with the crowd I had viewed in my short time there. The lingering scent of cannabis smokily hanging in the air, and rhythmic beats I'd have no problem movin mah feets to, will surely bring us both back there soon.

I am ready and waiting for you, Monday.

Big things should be happening tomorrow and hopefully I'll get a chance to write about them soon thereafter .